The man with the Balalaika

    I'm sitting in my room bored. My parents and brother left an hour ago and I've just finished my homework. I am now alone and unoccupied and as such, my thoughts begin to wander off. Although it would be absurd to say that the sounds made it all the way too my room and convinced me to go outside, a part of me truly believes that I was subconsciously called by the sounds of faint strumming. Nonetheless, I walk down the stairs and head outside. Nightly walks are a fond pastime of mine so it isn't unusual for me to be out at this hour. what's remarkable however, is the event that would come during my walk. As I step outside, I can't help but take in the presence of the late-summer evening. The sunlight is refracted in the sky, leaving only the feint blue light to mix with the clouds to form a dark, blueberry-like color. The weather is perfect in that I can go outside in a t-shirt and shorts and still feel a light breeze brushing across my face and clothes. The chirping of cicadas permeates throughout the background, reminding me of their presence whenever I become lost in my own thoughts. I cross the street to the park bordering my place, and begin my walk. But I barely make it 15 feet when I finally see him. The man with the Balalaika.

    From a distance, the Balalaika looks like a normal guitar, but upon further inspection, it has a distinct and unique triangular base. Originating from Russia first officially mentioned in 1688, the Balalaika is commonly used in Russian folk music and dance. And the man playing it seemed like he had decades of experience. He is sitting on a bench playing his Balalaika. He has his hat open with a few dollars in it. At first I am content with just listening.  I am walking about 45-50 feet away from him on the sidewalk that shifts through the park. But eventually my brain commands my body to get closer, to try and hear more. I walk towards him and he notices me. He smiles and nods at me while he continues to play. As I listen I am taken away by soft, yet powerful melodies of the Balalaika. We are both alone together as we are entranced by the sounds of the Balalaika. He has his eyes closed as he plays. He is playing from memory, or improvising. I cannot tell which one. I am struck by the feelings and thoughts of a warm bed. The safety and comfort it gives, whisking away any problems or negative emotions I might have with me. If only I could go back and ask what he felt during those moments. I suspect that he has become used to the melodies of the Balalaika, but I hope he still feels some new feelings when he plays. No one else besides me stopped to give money or listen, I was the only spectator to his performance. But even in its impromptu nature, it's lack of a real stage, and it's sole audience member, it was still indelible.

    As I reflect on this one-of-a-kind moment. I begin to realize the chances of being able to hear that man playing the Balalaika again. I have come to that park at similar times to hopefully hear him again yet I have not been successful once. As I am taking another walk near the park, I begin to really ponder the man with the Balalaika. I wonder where and when he learned how to play. Did he learn as a kid? Or was it something he pursued in his adult years? What is it about the Balalaika that drew him to it? Maybe he is a traveler, moving from town to town entrancing people with the rhythms of the Balalaika. Or perhaps he is a local resident of Champaign, and our encounter was really just a 1 in 87,000 chance. To this day, I have never seen another person play the Balalaika again. I have heard several online recordings, but none of them have been able to recapture the feelings of hearing it in person. It is entirely possible that I will never be able to hear the Balalaika in person again, and while that undeniably would not be ideal, the feelings and emotions I felt from that one performance are enough to last me a lifetime.

    It has been several years now since that chance encounter with the man with the Balalaika. I have not seen him nor another Balalaika in the wild and have given up hope in organically finding one. I will never solve the mystery of the man with the Balalaika. But I am content with not knowing. They say reality will often disappoint you and I feel like it applies here. The stories and mysteries I come up with about him in my head are almost assuredly more interesting than the reality. He probably doesn't even remember me, but I hope he still continues to play the Balalaika, taking his talents wherever he goes in life. With Covid-19, it has been harder and harder for street performers and artists to make a living. I am not sure if that even is his occupation but hopefully he will have more chances to perform in public, especially since things are cooling down now. As I begin to take more walks again now that it is much safer for vaccinated people, I am able to see all of the people performing various activities. in marketplaces, parks, and downtown. And while all of those people and talents are impressive in their own aspect, none have or will ever entrance me like the man with the Balalaika.